


The Mourning After

by Kedreeva



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hale Family Feels, M/M, Pack Feels, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles helps Derek handle the worst night of every year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mourning After

**Author's Note:**

> My contest entry for the MTV Teen Wolf Fanfiction Contest.

Stiles was not entirely sure why he had ended up here.

An hour ago he had been in his room, slumped over his desk, mousing through web pages about wolves and werewolves, looking for information about alphas in particular, considering the imminent danger they were all in from the pack of them that had arrived. So far they hadn't made a move, but the Beacon Hills pack - including Scott and Jackson, despite that they were outliers - were all _nervous_. They were on edge _constantly_. Scott had told him more than once that he could smell them everywhere.

So Stiles was doing what Stiles does best; researching, trying to be prepared.

Or at least he had been, until the notification popped for his inbox, with a message from... Peter Hale. Who shouldn't even _have_ his e-mail.

_Do you know what today is? He won't let us help._ That was all the e-mail contained.

Of course Stiles knew what day it was. They had all become aware of Derek's increasing grouchiness over the past few days, of how much rougher he was when training the betas. He'd snapped at Scott so badly the day before that Scott had just left; Derek wasn't _his_ alpha, he didn't have to take that sort of abuse. The others did, though, until Peter had stepped in and sent them to get dinner in town with Stiles. Even with his comparatively terrible hearing, Stiles had caught Peter's mutter about anniversaries as he tried to placate Derek.

Tonight was the anniversary of the Hale fire and Derek was being his typical, socially inept self, taking out his grief on his pack and friends. Stiles knew why Peter was contacting him. He knew that Derek had probably driven off the rest of the pack, including Peter - especially Peter - and was taking the evening to wallow in self pity. To the benefit of no one, Stiles told himself.

He ignored the e-mail. Derek was _not his problem_ tonight.

Except, there was the text from Scott, saying that Boyd and Erica were fighting about what to do.

Except, Isaac texted him that Derek shouldn't be left alone but there was nothing they could do after he ordered them all to leave.

Except, Peter sent another e-mail, and this one was a not-so-subtle reminder that loss should never be suffered alone.

Seething with irritation at all of his completely impossible friends and allies, Stiles had packed up his research, thrown on a coat, gotten past his father, and driven to the Hale manor. Out of principle he had complained the entire way, despite the fact that there was no one there to hear. He wondered if his Jeep ever got tired of hearing it.

When he had arrived the first thing he noticed was Derek, sitting on the edge of the top step to the porch, knees drawn up, arms crossed so that one of his hands wrapped around his other forearm. The werewolf could have left when he heard the Jeep, and perhaps he even considered it, but there he was, listening to Stiles drive up from probably a mile down the road.

What concerned Stiles the most was not that Derek was waiting for him, but that Derek didn't seem to _care_. He didn't _notice_ when Stiles parked, when Stiles slipped from the Jeep and slammed the door. He didn't acknowledge it in any way when Stiles sat down next to him, pulled up his feet to one step down, and engaged Derek in the only sort of conversation Derek was good at: dead silence.

Stiles was still not entirely sure how he had ended up here. However, he _was_ here, and he'd been here for almost fifteen minutes and neither of them had said anything. He was getting chilly just sitting still for so long, but he didn't really know what to say. Derek was grieving, in his own disconnected way, lost in the past that haunted everything around them. Stiles knew what that felt like. He knew how alone it was.

So he drew in a breath, slow and easy, and just offered the only thing he could remember wanting when he'd been in Derek's place.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Derek jumped a little at the noise before scowling. "That depends," he answered. "Are you going to tell me to get over it?" His growl might have covered the hurt behind the words if Stiles hadn't heard that same tone in his own voice once upon a time.

"No," Stiles told him softly, earning him a sideways look. He kept his gaze on his slender hands where they were clasped between his knees. "You lost your whole family. That's not something you just get over. Maybe not ever."

Derek looked away, back to the ground. He had never asked where Stiles' mom was, but Stiles could see that he recognized the tone. That he could guess where he would find her if he looked, what Stiles would tell him if he asked.

"But," continued Stiles, drawing his hands apart and folding his arms over his knees. He stared out over what should have been the front lawn. "You do move past it. You have to, because there's people that need you on the other side."

Closing his eyes, Derek's hand tightened around his wrist, his arms pressing down into his knees. "Like?"

"Like your pack," Stiles answered. His eyes shifted upward, caught sight of the moon through the half bare branches. Only a quarter full. "Like Peter. Like Jackson. Like Scott."

"Like you?" Derek asked, hushed.

Stiles looked over, met his eyes for the first time. They were so pale in the moonlight, like they might just disappear into the whites. So different from the bright red of his wolf. "Yeah. Like me."

For a moment, they held each others' gaze, searching for something neither of them could have voiced, and then Derek made a throaty, irritated noise and looked away again. Stiles let him, let his own eyes run down the tension of his shoulders, his arms, the way his hand still clutched at his own forearm as if to steady himself. He wasn't surprised when Derek spoke, but he was surprised to see the way speaking the words leeched the tension from his muscles.

"They were just... such amazing pack leaders." He sighed heavily, shoulders sinking. "What Alphas are supposed to be." _What I'm not_ hung unspoken between them.

Stiles bit back any remark he could have made about Derek's own leadership qualities and dropped his gaze to the ground. Now was not the time for joking. "Big shoes to fill," he commented instead, and he hated how his voice dulled almost to a whisper, cracked. Living up to the expectations of the dead was never easy.

"Yeah," Derek mumbled, grudging, miserable. A few breaths passed before he shook his head, chasing off his thoughts. "I just... miss them. I miss having a family."

Slowly, Stiles nodded his agreement. He glanced askance at Derek, twitched the sort of smile that never reached his eyes. "It's not the same, but I lost half my family," he said quietly. His heart sank to hear the words spoken aloud, but he forged ahead anyway. "It took a long time to realize that it didn't mean I was alone. You're not alone, either; or at least, you wouldn't be if you'd just stop wallowing in the past. You could have a family again."

Derek looked over, frowned. Not a scowl, for once, but an actual frown of consideration. Stiles wondered at the leaps in friendship they might be making. Maybe Derek actually wouldn't knock his head into anything for coming to talk to him tonight. Maybe... but probably not. Oh, the hits he took for the wolf pack team...

Moments stretched into minutes as they sat there, each lost in their own thoughts until Stiles shifted uncomfortably. His legs were falling asleep from sitting there so long and he couldn't feel his fingers in the cold night air. He'd been watching Derek's attention shift from his inner thoughts to his outer senses, recognized that whatever he was hearing probably meant their time for private conversation was at an end. So he mustered his resolve and forced a reassuring smile to curve his lips.

"All I'm saying is that... you don't have to push anyone away. Not even Peter," he said pointedly, eyes flicking up toward the edge of the forest. "Who is hiding in the woods. And probably texting the rest of the Pack."

With an approving but guilty smile, Peter emerged from the shadows around the edge of one of the larger trees. Derek didn't seem surprised- but then, Stiles had seen Derek listening to Peter's approach. "I should have turned you while I could," he told Stiles, who only smiled wanly back. "I might have stood a chance at winning."

"You'd have just lost faster," Stiles told him tiredly. "I'd still have picked Scott and Derek."

"Fair enough," Peter said with a shrug. Without further preamble, he wedged himself in between Stiles and Derek on the steps and stretched his legs out so that his heels rested on the ground. He leaned his weight back on his elbows. "You're on my side now anyhow."

Stiles met Derek's eyes over the top of Peter, and Stiles just shrugged as if to say 'can't really help it.' Then he smiled, this time for real, and was not disappointed when Derek's pale eyes rolled because for a split second the corners of his lips curled up the tiniest amount as well.

"See, Derek?" Stiles teased. "Family."


End file.
